


Where the Dog Star never glows

by skieswideopen



Category: Justified
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skieswideopen/pseuds/skieswideopen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Raylan noticed was how much his head hurt. The second was Rachel's voice, calling his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Dog Star never glows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/gifts).



The first thing Raylan noticed was how much his head hurt.

The second thing he noticed was Rachel's voice, soft and urgent, calling his name. He struggled against consciousness for a moment, burrowing back toward the comfortable darkness, and then memory returned, and with it, a wave of panic. _The kids_ , he thought, and opened his eyes.

Darkness still surrounded him.

Raylan lay still for a moment, blinking as he tried to work out how complete the darkness was, and then he realized that Rachel was still calling him. He sat up carefully, hands pressed against what felt like packed earth, and turned his head in the direction of her voice. "Rachel?"

"Raylan." Her voice was warm. Relieved. "Thank God."

Sitting up hadn't done his head any favours. He felt around on the back of his head, found the tender lump, and silently cursed the assholes who'd hit him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "Considering. How about you?"

"Tim's going to start telling me to trade my hat for a helmet again," he said, "but otherwise I'm fine. Any idea where we are?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "I don't think we're in a building. Maybe an abandoned mine shaft. It's hard to tell in the dark." There was an edge to her voice Raylan realized, and he wondered how long she'd been sitting alone in the dark, calling his name, waiting for him to wake up. Wondering if he'd wake at all.

He patted his pockets in search of his phone and came up empty. Rachel's was gone too, he assumed, or else she would have already used it to look around. "Could be an old mine," he said. "Lord knows there are enough of them around here."

His hat was missing as well, he realized. He began feeling around for it. "The question is, why bother driving us all the way out here? Why not just grab the kids and leave us at the scene, or else get rid of us?" There was no sign of his hat. He hoped it was still back in the car, rather than dumped on the ground a few feet away where he'd never find it.

"Maybe they need to buy some time," Rachel suggested, "but they didn't want to go down for killing a couple of feds?"

"They drove us off the road, knocked us out, and kidnapped a federal witness's two children, and I don't think it was because they were planning on taking those kids to the state fair. Do you really think people like that would balk at killing a couple of deputy marshals?"

"Apparently," she said practically. "Since we're still alive."

She had a point there, but it still bothered him. It would have been considerably safer to dump two bodies in an old mine than to leave behind two living-and-breathing deputy U.S. marshals. So why hadn't they? "Could be they thought the mine would take care of us and save them the trouble," he said, not really believing it. Not expecting her to believe it either.

"Speaking of being trapped in a mine," Rachel said, "do you have any ideas how we find out way out of here?"

"Let me find you first," he said, "and then we'll see." He began inching toward the sound of her voice, feeling his way carefully in case there was something on the floor between them. Abandoned equipment, say, or a large hole. Or something even less friendly. He'd never been particularly bothered by snakes, but then again, he'd never before had to deal with one he couldn't see.

Raylan stopped after a couple of feet, no longer certain he was heading in the right direction. He'd learned back in his mining days how easy it was to become disoriented in the dark. "Say something," he said.

"Like what?"

"Anything," he said. "I just need to hear where you are. Do you think the guys who took the kids have already contacted Art?"

"Probably. But even if they haven't, he's going to know something's wrong."

"Sure," Raylan said, adjusting his angle and resuming his slow progress toward her. "Art's probably already found the kids and is on his way to us right now."

"So you're saying we should just relax here and wait to be found?" she asked. He thought she was aiming for teasing, but it fell a bit short, landing somewhere around anxious.

He considered telling her in all seriousness that that was the safer route, just as long as they were sure that Art would find them, and then rejected the idea. Safer or not, Rachel was no more going to be willing to sit and wait for rescue than he was, especially with two missing kids out there--kids who were their responsibility. "Well, I figure we'd better at least make an effort to escape on our own, or Art might dock our pay for slacking off on the job."

She chuckled at that and he smiled in the darkness.

"How do you think they found us?" she asked.

Not too much further, he judged. "I've been wondering that myself. I'm sure it didn't escape your notice that they ambushed us near the safe house, not near the school. And I'm pretty damn sure no one was tailing us from one to the other."

"I know," she said. "They knew where we were going. And they found out about the whole operation quickly. Too quickly. We only had Dawson in custody a couple of hours before Vasquez got him to agree to testify."

"You're saying someone leaked it," he said, and wished he were a little more surprised.

He was close enough now that he could hone in on her location, and he reached out, groping in the dark until he found Rachel's arm. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "Phase one complete." Her other hand came up and rested on his hand for a moment, as if seeking reassurance.

"What's next?" she asked. "How do we get out?"

Raylan looked up at the all-encompassing darkness, hand still resting on her arm. Truth be told, he'd been trying not to think too hard about that--about where they were, or what it meant or how hard it would be to find their way out. How easy it was to die down here, buried in the deep dark.

On the other hand, chances were their abductors wouldn't have wanted to bother carrying them too far or too deep. Chances were they'd followed a clear, dry path to get here, which meant there was most likely a clear, dry path back to the surface. Just so long as they could find it.

Optimistically, they might even have been intended to find their way out, once the Dawson children were away and secure.

He got to his feet, tugging Rachel up beside him. "First we find a wall."

It took some time to feel their way through the darkness to something solid, both of them reaching out cautiously before step to make sure there was ground--and only ground--there to support them. At least Raylan thought it had taken a fair degree of time, but he also knew how time could stretch underground with no signposts.

After they had their wall, the next step was deciding which direction to go. Here, Raylan was mostly relying on the hope that their abductors had had a reason for leaving them here alive, that they'd been intended to survive. If that were true, then he reckoned they wouldn't have to go too far before they found some sign of an exit or at least an indication that they were going the right way. He figured if they went a ways and nothing popped, they'd turn around and try the other direction. Rachel agreed to the plan; mostly, he suspected, because she couldn't come up with anything better.

Raylan took the lead, one hand out in front, one on the wall beside him. Rachel followed behind him with a hand on his back and one on the wall.

"What do we need to watch out for?" she asked, a little ways into the slow journey.

"Oh, you know, the usual," he said, keeping his tone light. "Tunnels collapsing or supports giving way. Vertical shafts. Pockets of methane gas. Flooding. Snakes."

"Snakes," she repeated, distaste clear in her voice.

"Not a fan?"

"Not so much."

"I never would have picked that as your weak spot. Deputy U.S. Marshal Rachel Brooks, afraid of snakes."

"I didn't say I was _afraid_ of them," she said, pride clearly stung. "I just don't like them. They're all...slithery."

"That they are," he said. "Could be worse, though."

"Worse how?"

"You could have been afraid of the dark."

"What about you?" she asked.

He felt in front of him carefully. Took another step. "What do you mean?"

"What are you afraid of?"

"Thought you said you weren't afraid of snakes," he said. The wall curved under his hand. They were at a junction, he realized.

"Why are we stopping?" Rachel asked behind him.

"New tunnel. Here, come around." They followed the wall around and Raylan looked in both directions, straining to see any sign of light. No such luck. "Which way do you want to go?"

Rachel hesitated. "Let's stick with the wall we've got," she said finally.

"Right it is. Do you want to take the lead for a while?"

"Oh, I'll leave that to the expert," she said.

"Expert?" His mouth twisted in an amused, ironic smile that he knew she couldn't see. "I'm not sure I'd go that far. It's been a long time since I was down a mine of any kind."

"Yeah? Why'd you quit?"

"My aunt Helen convinced me that there was no future in coal mining." A simple answer. Clean. An answer that didn't dwell on the experience of running for your life as a tunnel collapses on you, or listening to old miners hack and cough their way through their work, or even just watching your fellows drink themselves into a stupor each night, seeing no hope for a better future. But a true answer too. Helen's advice and Helen's money had gotten him out of the mines, out of Harlan.

They began walking again, following the new tunnel, progress achingly slow. Raylan focused on his next step and tried to avoid dwelling on the Dawson kids, captive and scared and far beyond his ability to help them, or about the tons of earth above and around them and the suffocating darkness pressing in on them, or about the lingering ache in his head. He needed a distraction, he decided. Something else to think about. Or even better, to talk about.

"Any theories on who our leak is?" he asked. He had his own thoughts there--had been pondering the question in the back of his mind since they'd first woken down here--and he was curious to hear if Rachel's thoughts lined up with his own.

She was silent for a long minute. "I have a short list. But Raylan--"

"Yeah?" He had an inkling of what was coming, but waited to hear it.

She paused again. "This isn't the first incident," she said finally. "We've had a number of situations come up recently--at least eight in the past three months--where our operations were compromised due to information getting into the wrong hands. Art and I have been investigating--quietly--trying to identify the source of the leaks."

Eight was five more than he'd found. But then, he'd been working off instinct and what cases he could find through low-level prying. Nothing as organized as Rachel's investigation, or with the find of information that Art's support could offer. "I take it you've decided it wasn't me."

"You were out of town for two of the incidents," Rachel confirmed. "That prisoner transfer to Memphis and the fugitive you chased to Illinois. There's no way you could be the leak."

"Well, it's good to know that prisoner transfers are good for something."

"We knew it wasn't you anyway," she said. "We had to look at you, because that's the job, but Art and I both knew we wouldn't find anything."

He was surprised at how much that pleased him. It wasn't surprising that Art had known it wasn't him--there was a lot of history there--but it was nice to know that Rachel had faith in his general honesty, if nothing else. "Why was that? My careful and dutiful adherence to rules and regulations?"

"It's not your style. You're too determined not to turn into your father to ever betray the badge like that. Especially for mere money."

"Well, maybe it wasn't about money," he suggested. "Maybe they had something on me, like a shooting that wasn't completely justified--purely in the legal sense, you understand--and they were blackmailing me for information."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you weren't there for two of the incidents," Rachel said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Since I've been cleared, can you fill me in on the eight incidents?" Raylan asked, curious how they lined up with his own findings and what he had missed.

Rachel listed them off, eight times when things had gone wrong for the Marshal Service in ways they shouldn't have. Mostly fugitives somehow slipping away at the last minute, just as the Marshal Service was closing in on them. Four of them had been related in various ways to the same organization that Chad Dawson had worked--and bribed--on behalf of, and Raylan wondered why they hadn't stretched their help out to him, instead of leaving him twisting and then kidnapping his children.

He also noticed something else. "You're missing one."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you think you were the only one who noticed things were going wrong in ways they shouldn't?" he asked mildly. "I had a witness last month, scheduled to testify against the Adkins brothers. I thought I saw someone loitering near the motel where we'd planned to stash her, so I made a last minute change, then circled back and picked him up. It was a punk kid with connections to the Adkins gang. Probably their spotter. He denied it, of course, but--"

"But he knew where you were going," Rachel said. "Just like today."

"It does seem to fit the pattern," he agreed. "Have you managed to eliminate anyone from suspicion besides me?"'

"Almost everyone," Rachel said. "We're down to three people now who had the opportunity for all eight cases: Dunlop, Charters and Hatfield." Surnames, he noticed. Distancing.

"I can tell you right now it wasn't Dunlop. He was out with the flu the week my witness was nearly ambushed. I stopped in on him a couple of times and I'm pretty sure he wasn't faking. I don't care how good an actor you are; nobody can fake looking that shade of green."

"That leaves Charters and Hatfield," Rachel said.

"Damn," he said. "I like Charters. A little too eager, but he always brings me coffee. And Hatfield always loses at poker. Though I suppose that might be another reason to look at Hatfield. How do their financials look?"

"Clean at first glance," Rachel said. "Art's digging further. We can do a little more now that we've narrowed it down."

"That's goo-" he began, and then the earth rumbled and began to collapse around them. Raylan shoved Rachel hard, trying to get her clear of the collapse, then brought his hands to his face, trying to preserve a pocket of air as the heavy dirt pushed him down to his knees.

He came up a minute later, sputtering and spitting, trying to clear dirt from his mouth. It had only been a partial collapse he realized as he stood, dirt sliding off his back. "Rachel?" he called. Had she made it clear of the collapse? "Rachel?" He had no idea what direction he'd pushed her in, he realized. He began feeling around in the dirt, groping in all directions. "Rachel!" Art, he thought randomly, would kill him if got Rachel killed down here. Right after he killed the leak who'd sent them down.

His hand collided with something warm and living. He grasped her hand and helped her pull herself, coughing, up out of the dirt.

"Are you okay?"

"What was that?" she asked. "Did the ceiling collapse?"

"Some of it, anyway. It wasn't the whole of it or we wouldn't be standing here talking." He paused and looked around. "Is it just me or does it seem like it's a little lighter in here than it was?"

"Still looks like nothing but black to me," she asked.

"Let's go a little further anyway," he said. "See if can find the exit before the rest of the tunnel decides to come down on us."

They had to wade through a foot of dirt for the first while, which slowed them down, but the dirt gradually disappeared, and as it did, it became clear that Raylan had been right: it was getting lighter. And then lighter still, which let them go faster as they stopped having to feel for obstacles. By the end, they were full-out running toward the daylight, still holding hands. Raylan couldn't remember ever being quite as happy as he was the moment the two of them stumbled squinting out of the mine into full sunlight.

He took a deep breath, savouring the fresh air. Beside him, Rachel tilted her face up to the sun for a moment, eyes closed, and then took her jacket off and began shaking it out.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" she asked.

Raylan looked around, studying the countryside, noting the rural road, and the complete lack of distinguishing features. "Not a clue," he said. "We're not in Harlan, but that's about all I can tell you."

Rachel slipped her coat back on. "I guess we'd better start walking."

"Or not," Raylan said as he caught the low rumble of an approaching car.

They shared a glance--how many people could know about this place?--and then ducked back into the entrance of the mine they'd just escaped from, pressing themselves against the walls.

They both peeked around the corner as the car stopped, and relaxing in unison when Art climbed out.

"This should be where they are," he called over his shoulder. "Where the hell's the search team?"

"I think you can call them off," Raylan said, stepping out. The relief on Art's face when he saw them warmed him. "It's good to see you, Art."

"It's good to see the two of you too. Rough day?"

"Only a little more than usual," Rachel said.

"Did you get the kids?" Raylan asked.

"We did. Dawson turned out to be just bright enough to tell us when they called and told him they had his kids. We traced the call backwards and picked up the caller. It took us a little while, but we managed to get him to give up the locations of both you and the kids."

"How the hell did Dawson get a cellphone?" Raylan asked.

"Said he found it in his pocket. Which means someone inside the office gave it to him. But I'm guessing the two of you already worked that one out."

"We discussed it, " Rachel said. "Raylan says it wasn't Nelson Dunlop."

"Yeah?" Art looked at him, sharp under the surface affableness. "How do you figure that?"

"This wasn't the first time someone tried to ambush me while I was protecting a witness," Raylan said. "Only last time, I was quick enough to get them first. Dunlop was out of the office that week. Flu."

"We missed that one," Rachel said to Art.

"Well, that does make things easier," he said. "Jim Hatfield's been out of the office all day, helping with a state police investigation."

"Charters," Rachel said.

"Let's go find out," Art said, opening the door to the car. "Oh, and Raylan?" He reached inside and pulled something out. "I think this is yours."

Raylan reclaimed the hat with a smile. "Nice of you to hold onto it for me, Art."

"I tried it on," Art said. "Didn't fit."

It took even less time to break Bryce Charters than it had to crack Chad Dawson. Rachel and Art had done solid work; the evidence was incontrovertible.

He was crying by the end, which made Raylan shift uncomfortably in his chair and wish for the interview to be over.

"No one died," Charters said, breath hitching. "I made sure of it. That was always a condition--no one dies." He looked pleadingly from Rachel to Raylan and back again. "You're alive, right? I made sure of it."

"And if we'd gotten lost down there?" Raylan said, voice implacable. "Do you know how many ways you can die in an old mine?"

Charters shook his head, protesting. "No one died," he said again.

"Well, I'm sure you can bring that up with the judge," Art said, standing up. "I think we're finished here." 

Raylan and Rachel followed him outside.

"Why don't you two go on home and get cleaned up?" Art said. "I'll take care of the rest of this."

Raylan wondered how bad they looked if Art was emphasizing getting cleaned up. He didn't really feel too bad, all things considered, at least not after taking the painkillers he'd bummed from Tim.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to stay," Rachel said. "See it through."

Raylan admired her perseverance. Personally, he'd had enough of Charters and the uncomfortable mix of anger and pity and contempt he evoked. The man hadn't even had a good reason for it--no secret drug habit or gambling debt. He'd just decided he was underpaid and figured this was an easy way to get more. "In that case, I'll bid you both good night."

"That was good work today," Art said. "But next time you notice that someone's leaking information from our office, maybe you could see your way to telling me about it instead of playing lone wolf?"

Raylan smiled ruefully. "I'll keep that in mind, Art."

"You'd better," he said, "or you'll be wishing you were on something as good as prisoner transfer." The warning was accompanied by a firm nod, and then Art headed toward his office.

"It was nice being trapped down a mine with you, Raylan," Rachel said. "Let's not do it again."

"Yes, ma'am. I was thinking the exact same thing."

She flashed a smile at him. "I am glad you were there. I'm not sure I would have made it out alone."

"Oh, I think you would have managed," Raylan said. He tipped his hat to her and turned away.

"You know, you never did tell me something you're afraid of," she called after him

"That's an easy one," he said over his shoulder. "I'm afraid of dying down there."


End file.
